Doctor Blake Drabble Challenges
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Various drabbles (no more than 300 words) featuring characters from The Doctor Blake Mystery series. Written for Bugsfic's drabble challenge of tumblr.
1. Deal with the Devil

**One fic with the drabbles I write for Bugsfic's drabble challenges posted onto tumblr originally.**

 **To go and read the others use the hashtag #tdbm drabbles. Am hoping to keep up and do one a week.**

 **Drabbles must be exactly 50, 100, 200 or 300 words.**

 **Prompt one: 'stuck'**

 **Title: Deal with the Devil**

Jean was pleased to see the grass had finally grown across the grave. It had been red dirt the last few visits.

She leant down to place the flowers against the headstone, automatically reading the inscription as she did. _Loving husband and father._

She remembered Lucien's face when she'd proposed the wording for the headstone.

"Which was he to you?" Lucien had asked, the slurring of his words startling her and catching her off guard.

"I beg your pardon?" she'd snapped but her waning patience had gone unnoticed due to his level of inebriation.

"Will there be any nasty surprises when the will is read?"

She flushed again now thinking about it. Not with shame, of course. Dr Blake – Thomas – had never acted in any way inappropriately. She could never imagine…

Lucien could imagine though, it seemed. He'd never made any outright accusations since that night but sometimes there was a lifted eyebrow or a slight hesitation in his voice when he referred to his father and his housekeeper in the same breath.

Jean wanted to strike back, to tell him that a man his age acting like a jealous and petulant child was not becoming. She decided, however, to ignore it just like she did her best to ignore all of Lucien's other…quirks.

She had to, after all. She had nowhere to go should she and Lucien fall out completely. His home was her home, whether either of them liked it or not.

She stared down at the grave. Doctor Blake had brought her ashore, grounded her when she'd been drifting, dangerously close to crashing against the rocks. She supposed it was her duty to repay the favour.

"I know," she said aloud to Doctor Blake. "Lucien's stuck with me." Whether either of them liked it or not.


	2. The Working Class

**Prompt: Woman's work**

 **Title: The Working Class**

Jean didn't mind making the tea. Besides, as she delivered it she took the opportunity to sneak a look at the blackboard they'd brought in from the shed and leant against the radiogram earlier. She was fascinated by the map of intersecting lines linking the unfortunate victim to several persons of interest.

One name's placement caught her eye.

"Shirley Watson," she said, giving up all pretence of disinterest in their project. "Why is she a suspect and not a witness? She merely found the body, didn't she?"

The only reply to her query was a chink of china. She looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at the men's sudden united focus on ensuring their sugar dissolved correctly.

"Shirley Watson works for a living, Mrs Beazley," Matthew commented eventually.

Jean frowned. "Would you like to put my name on your board then? Mattie's?" All three men shuffled their feet. "If that makes a woman a suspect, I suggest you move to the school. They might have enough blackboard space."

"She wears a _lot_ of make up, Auntie Jean."

The penny dropped. But… "Just because a woman wears too much lippy doesn't mean she does _that_ sort of thing."

"Miss Watson does indeed do that sort of thing," Lucien confirmed. "She runs her business out of a cottage about two blocks from the scene of the crime."

"You know a lot about this tart then, Doc?" Danny prodded cheekily.

"I'm disappointed in you, Lucien," Jean said. "Does she have _any_ connection to the victim?"

Lucien held her gaze for a long moment. Then, suitably chastised, he fetched the chalk and adjusted the board.

"Good." As she returned to the kitchen, she did make one last demand on Lucien. "We'll talk about how you're so authoritative about Miss Watson's business later."


	3. Shelter

**Written for the 'bathroom' challenge.**

 **Title: Shelter**

Jean hated this house.

She would be polite and let the agent, Graham 'call me Baz' Barry, finish showing them around, but she could never take to its shiny surfaces. Its stark modern design was like a brick box. No art studio, no patio for her plants, no cosy kitchen–

"There are _two_ bathrooms," Baz, speaking with more of a dramatic flair than any of her fellow theatre actors, interrupted her thoughts.

"Why would we need two?" Lucien asked. "Unless there's some special plumbing feature that you've managed to come up with I can't imagine that we'd get running hot water in both at the same time."

"The idea is that you won't be annoyed by the little woman's _intimate_ things."

"It just so happens I like Mrs Blake's intimate things."

Jean bit down on her lip and stared at the blue carpet (which was apparently a 'contemporary' colour).

Baz cleared his throat. "Well, you'll have your own mirror to shave."

"Mmm?" Lucien scratched his beard.

"In our home we only have one bathroom," Jean said placatingly, despite her annoyance, "with four of us sharing–"

"That's it!" Lucien cried. "That's the problem. We already have a home."

"But you've just married. You need your own house, without the young boarders and patients knocking on your door at all hours," Baz babbled. "You could start a family–"

"We already have a family, Mr Barry."

Jean thought of all the 'helpful' advice they'd received about needing to start afresh in a new house, where they could be alone. But she'd miss the liveliness of the young ones. Mostly, though, she'd miss the memories they'd made there together. "It's not this house. I'll hate them all."

"I'm sorry to waste your time, Mr Barry." Lucien squeezed her hand. "Let's go home, Mrs Blake."


	4. It's a Date

**Written for the 'confession' challenge. Set straight after Crossing the Line.**

Title: It's a Date

After turning its page, Lucien gave the newspaper a bit of a shake. "I see the cinema is open again."

"What time are they showing Vertigo?" Jean asked, using the excuse of pouring Lucien another tea to lean over his shoulder and read the session times.

"I thought you said you didn't like it," Mattie said.

"I said it wasn't the usual Jimmy Stewart film. And now that I've had time to think, I wouldn't mind finding out how it ended."

"You'll need to buy another ticket," Lucien warned.

"That's how I got into the Richard mess," Jean admitted with a sigh, manoeuvring to also sit.

"How so?" Lucien prompted, placing the paper onto the table and giving Jean his full attention.

"I felt so silly, buying a single ticket," she confessed quietly. "I thought it was fate when Richard came into the theatre alone too." Jean stared into her teacup for a moment before forcing a bright smile. "I'll just need to get used to going to the flicks by myself, I guess."

"I must confess I'd rather that idea than another man–"

Mattie cut off Lucien's highhandedness. "Don't be silly–"

"Or else you could take Mattie," he added before Mattie could scold him further.

Jean waved her hand to dismiss the idea. "Mattie's young, with friends of her own."

"What about your new associate, Lucien. Alice?"

Lucien placed his hands face down on the tabletop and thought for a moment before replying. "No, you're both right, the only solution is that I take Jean."

"Knowing you, Lucien, you'll want to take notes, hoping to solve the mystery before the movie's end."

"How about it, Jean?" Lucien asked, ignoring Mattie's teasing.

Jean would only privately confess how pleased she was when she could think of no reason to refuse.


	5. Awakening

**Written for the 'a night to remember' challenge.**

Title: Awakening

Jean expected Lucien to make an appearance in the kitchen, as well-groomed as he usually was every breakfast time at home, when the pan sizzled from her cooking. But after a long wait, she placed a plate on top of his bacon and eggs to keep them warm.

She stared out the kitchen window as she filled the sink with water, drinking in their honeymoon accommodation's magnificent view. She hoped the thick patch of Australian bush would hide them away from the rest of the world for a few weeks at least.

A kookaburra flew down to land on a branch of a ghost gum and threw his head back. Yet, the bird's noisy laughing song still did not rouse her husband.

She tiptoed into the bedroom and, like an anxious first time mother, placed her hand upon Lucien's chest, relaxing only once it rose and fell in time with his deep breathing.

Of course, what she felt for Lucien could hardly be described as maternal. Last night… Their wedding night. The first night they'd _slept_ together.

Her breath hitched. It was certainly a night she could not easily forget..

She'd woken this morning, early, to the warbling of a family of magpies outside the cottage. Lucien, however, had remained in a deep slumber.

It was so rare for him to sleep at all, let alone this late–

She quickly covered her mouth to stifle her gasp. Lucien stalked the house at night, he completed paperwork, he scribbled on his blackboard, he drank… He never slept! Yet last night he had, soundly and deeply, like a man who'd had a weight lifted from his shoulders.

She stared at his long lashes, twitching peacefully against his cheeks. He was happy.

Once he woke she would tell him the feeling was mutual.


	6. Bound and Tired and Waiting for Daylight

**Written for the 'prequel' challenge.**

It was old Mr Simpson, sitting on the pew in front of her, who prompted Jean into action. He'd tutted over the state of the war. Not the death or misery which followed the fighting, but the way it was encouraging women's independence.

"We're making do, I 'spose," he'd said to his crony, Mr Wallace.

"You'll have to make do," Christopher had told her in a letter. After he'd enlisted she'd been forced to send a plea to Queensland, asking him to check with his superiors regarding the unexpected small portion of his army wages she was receiving. His only other comments in his reply were about the heat and a promise to send 'round Jock Hobbins.

Jock wasn't serving due a technicality he hadn't even revealed to his closest mates, but Jean soon guessed the army probably refused due to intemperance.

Jean had always made do when Christopher disappeared behind the men's only door at the Royal and she simply made do when Jock's enthusiasm for farming wanned. She counted her blessings he was a quiet drunk who never approached the main house (or her) in an inappropriate way.

Having seen hide nor hair of Jock for some days, Jean was pegging out washing when the unmistakable stench of death blew in on the breeze. She called the police, who attended along with their police physician.

A newspaper advertisement caught her eye almost a year later. The war continued, but doctors still needed someone to manage their appointments.

Doctor Blake remembered her apparently. He noted she would make do with or without her husband.

Now Jean squeezed into the small booth, bowed her head and crossed herself. However, she doubted the priest would be able to absolve her sin.

"I'd rather make do without," she confessed.

She could only pray.


	7. Risky Business

**Written for the 5.1 challenge. Stars Alice and Matthew**

"Dr Harvey."

She hadn't expected to find someone in her office, let alone someone sprawled out in the room's only chair. She breathed a little calmer when she recognised her visitor was, at least, highly unlikely to make some sort of threatening move against her. Still, she didn't like surprises so her greeting was a sharp, "make yourself at home."

"Sorry, but I couldn't find another chair, and standing to wait is… difficult."

Her gaze followed his to a set of legs that seemingly stretched from one side of the cramped room to the other. A cane was propped against the wonky table she called a desk.

"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten your handicap."

He made a strange noise at the back of his throat to which she responded to merely with a slight twitch in her cheek.

"I came to ask a favour," he growled.

"A what?"

"A favour," he repeated. "As a friend."

Her eyes narrowed. Were they friends?

"And as a doctor," he added.

This piqued her interest somewhat. Gingerly, she stepped over his legs to perch on top of one of the many pile of books that decorated the room.

"I need a prescription. You can still write those out, can't you?"

"It's usually too late for most of my patients," she dryly noted, "but, yes."

Reaching into his pocket, he dragged out an empty container, and handed it to her.

She read the label. "Why don't you ask Lucien?"

He waved an impatient hand. "He's fussing."

"How many are you taking?"

"No more than one a day."

Alice stared at the label again. If she gave him the script she would need to keep a close eye on him – a very close eye.

She retrieved her prescription pad.

"This could be worse than the hairdressers, Inspector."


	8. Tea and Sympathy

**Prompt = Set in 5.2. Alice/Matthew**

Title: Tea and Sympathy

"Give you a lift home, boss?"

"The doc in Melbourne reckons I need to keep this leg moving."

Three blocks away from the cop shop and regretting his decision to refuse Charlie's offer, he paused to catch his breath. Someone was taking a nail and hammering it into his leg with each step.

"Right there, Sarge?" a punter asked.

Nodding, he swung around, hiding his sweaty features by staring into the closest shop window.

He wasn't sure if the bloke had gotten his rank incorrect out of ignorance or to be deliberately smart-ass. The public's reaction to the uniform was invariably mixed. There'd always been as many surly grunts and glares as there were polite nods and 'g'day mates'. And now, he'd added to people's morbid curiosity by needing a stick of wood to keep upright.

"The pale blue might be best."

He swivelled towards the woman who'd crept up beside him.

"The lemon might wash your features out a little."

He looked back into the shop. He was positioned in front of a women's fashion display.

"I'd think you have as much knowledge of ladies frocks as I do, Doctor."

He was still contemplating how to apologise for his insult when she said, "Perhaps I could try dressmaking." Then, she elaborated: "I'm looking for a new hobby."

"What was your old one?"

"I didn't have one. Maybe a dance class–"

"I used to dance but those days are over," he snapped.

The look she gave him spoke volumes.

Again, he thought he should apologise for his cantankerous behaviour. "How about I shout us a cuppa?" he offered. "We can try to come up with new hobbies for us both."

He'd have to talk to the doc in Melbourne about the spring that came into his step after she agreed.


End file.
